


Colors of Home

by interestingword



Category: Original Work
Genre: Coming of Age, Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-22
Updated: 2016-08-22
Packaged: 2018-08-10 10:17:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7840891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/interestingword/pseuds/interestingword
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A quick one-shot I wanted to write.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Colors of Home

The sky was blue.

A brick building loomed before her, making promises empty of truth or learning, only guaranteeing relief from a turmoiled home.

The sky was green.

This was not a normal occurrence, mind you, the sky did not turn green in the middle of the day for no reason, and yet there it was. Blazing in emerald glory, thousands of feet above her head, filled with the light of a distant, distant sun. 

The crunching of leaves came from behind her, accompanied by a hurried greeting, words distracted by the shining hope on a face covered in feathers like none she had seen before. Creatures that she had never known were looking with awe at the ragged clothes she wore, pinning beads into her shirt, shoving bread into her hands, begging in an unknown tongue to be saved from the oncoming armies of an unknown enemy.

The sky was yellow.

Her mount, a beast with wings like leathery canvas, soared through the clouds and whirled and spun and did everything she had ever dreamed possible and more. Training was what it was supposed to be, preparation to fight the oncoming war, but it was moments like these that made things a little better. Moments of peace and laughter with her scaly companion as if nothing was wrong, like this alien world was her true home. In a short while she would be on the ground, parrying strikes and practicing with a bow, learning to kill without remorse.

It seemed like a dream, but unfortunately, dreams did not typically claim lives.

The sky was orange.

Armies marched closer, dots in infinite lines, beating their tattoo into the ground for the whole world to hear and tremble. They were to arrive by morning tomorrow, and she leaned in close to her mount, sending a silent prayer to whatever gods were present that they would survive. That they could see the sun again and laugh and cry and just make it, damn it, make it through the day.

The sky was red.

It echoed the ground below, slippery with the blood of a hundred, a thousand, a million needless slaughters. Still more struggled for life, laying on the battlefield that would be still be stained for eons to come. Her mount lay lifeless on the ground, wings outspread as if in flight, arrows like quills piercing their hide. It was up to her, now, to end this once and for all. The tyrant lord was weakened, she was sure. He had to be. She was the chosen one.

Her sword met his with a mighty noise, and the world was engulfed in noise and light.

The sky was purple.

The warlord had not been seen for decades, nor had there been word of any stirrings in his domain, and he was presumed dead or wounded. She, the hero, the chosen one and savior and survivor and a thousand more titles, lived in peace and wealth. Sketches of her fallen companion adorned her home's walls, etches and carvings of the battle half-covered with cloth, parchment with too few words lay scattered on the floor. This was home, she thought, and so she stayed.

The sky was blue.

A building still loomed and a household still fought, the world still filled with problems, the sky still blue. And it was still not her home. Her hands itched for a blade, her legs yearned to limp from an injury she wouldn't get for a decade, her eyes squinted with the sight that had left in her old age.

This was not home, not anymore.

The sky was green, and the girl who had lived two lifetimes smiled.


End file.
